In the mist-shrouded depths of the Yang Yuan Pond, a clump of firelight seemed exceptionally dazzling. Yet, amidst the terrifying pressure of these depths, only the brightness of the fire periodically emitted waves of patterns that dispersed the darkness a little.
Within that ten-zhang-wide flame, one could vaguely make out a figure seated cross-legged. Around it, the dense Yang Gang energy flowed like fire pythons into the tiny whirlwinds and continuously infused the figure with energy. A faint rustling sound softly arose.
As one's gaze penetrated the heart of the flames, the figure gradually became clear—wrapped in silver light, with fine strands of black dots being squeezed out of its body. These were impurities, which, under the purifying forge of the Yang Gang energy, were being cleansed away.
Since Ye Xuan had first entered the Yang Yuan Pond, five days had passed.
